


not haunted!

by tootsonnewts



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M, Married Sheith, Shiro is Cursed, inspired by those pictures of houses for sale with NOT HAUNTED signs in the yard, keith is a spooky boy with a soft spot for ghosts, spooky house flipper keith, veteran real estate agent shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 07:15:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16782202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tootsonnewts/pseuds/tootsonnewts
Summary: The trick to getting blood out of carpets is a fresh bottle of club soda, a generous sprinkling of salt, and patience. Failing that, some diluted ammonia will usually do the trick. Right now, though, Shiro thinks that the only solution to deal with it would be to tear the carpets out altogether and lay plastic down over the bare concrete floor until he can call an exorcist. A career change, he thinks to himself as he scrubs the high pile with a stiff brush, might be in order if he can ever make this sale.Be that as it may, the blood isn’t going to handle itself.shiro is a real estate agent with a problem. a ghost problem.





	not haunted!

**Author's Note:**

> catch me posting this to distract myself from my fear over that new trailer.

The trick to getting blood out of carpets is a fresh bottle of club soda, a generous sprinkling of salt, and patience. Failing that, some diluted ammonia will usually do the trick. Right now, though, Shiro thinks that the only solution to deal with it would be to tear the carpets out altogether and lay plastic down over the bare concrete floor until he can call an exorcist. A career change, he thinks to himself as he scrubs the high pile with a stiff brush, might be in order if he can ever make this sale.

Be that as it may, the blood isn’t going to handle itself.

Shiro blows a stray lock of hair out of his eyes as he kneels back on his knees, blotting over the stain with a clean towel. A loud bang from upstairs rattles the chandelier, unsettling some dust bunnies from among the delicate crystals. It’s a testament to how numb he’s become to all of these sorts of events that Shiro doesn’t even flinch. He picks up the scrub brush and gets back to work.

Real estate was never his dream career. Truth be told, it’s not much of a career to speak of when he compares it to what he used to do. Not that it’s a bad job, of course. Quite the opposite. He gets to help families find their perfect homes, help them take the first step toward fulfilling their little slice of the American dream. He’s proud of that and of the heartfelt connections he’s made over the past few years of selling houses. When he compares that to the rush of laying hands on the controls of a jet fighter, to pulling off difficult and gut wrenching maneuvers, it’s hard to find the same fulfillment. But it’s a better gig than a lot of other things he could be doing post early retirement, and truth be told, sometimes it’s nice to always be busy.

But it just seems like no matter what he does, he’s cursed.

He’d chalked his first time up as being a fluke. Some sort of cosmic deity thought it would be funny to watch him set, reset, and reset again an antique entry table just _so_ to make the perfect impact upon each potential buyer that stepped over the threshold. Someone up there was belly laughing into their oatmeal as they scattered his business cards all over the floor and transported each expensive scone to some hidden crevice of the three-story Victorian. The thing about it was, he was already too exhausted for the house on Chestnut. He’d still been deep in the throes of therapy — both physical and mental — and a year fresh off the crash that took his arm and nearly killed him, so he’d chalked the weird instances up to his weary mind.

Until the buyers called him to demand why he never told them the place was haunted.

It was something that was smoothed over easily enough, surprisingly. Shiro paid for the family’s priest to bless the house, and all was well.

The second house was a more difficult venture. Now that house, that house was something else.

The moment he stepped out of his Range Rover and glanced up at the antique craftsman on Oakwood, he knew he was in for a world of shit. The seller assured him they were planning to fix up the property and make it presentable, they just wanted his assessment of what they could feasibly expect. What they could feasibly expect, he initially thought, was a bunch of hefty bills and a net loss on the sale. The windows were darkened, some broken and full of cobwebs, their curtains hanging limply inside. The wooden porch held broken slats and long dead plants, dried to a crisp inside their cracked terra cotta pots. He distinctly remembers squinting through the front door and swearing he could see someone walking around inside.

At that point, he thinks back often, he should have turned tail and run. He should have done a lot of things. Instead, he keyed in the code to access the house key. The house was freezing when he stepped inside. There was no central air control that he could make out, which didn’t make much sense to him at the time, as the house was built in the forties and the seller claimed it had been updated to meet modern standards since. Still, he had ignored the roiling in his gut telling him to make a break for it and plunged further inside.

As he stepped into the parlor, a nest of pigeons squawked and rushed out of the corner of the room, barely missing his head on their way to the window. It took him several long minutes to calm the beating of his heart and pry himself off of the opposing wall.

At the time, he should have seen the signs for what they were. His intuition never led him astray, and yet there he stayed. He needed to kick start himself down a new path, he thought, so he committed to his second haunted house.

Fortunately — or fortunately enough, in a certain sense — the haunting made itself known in a much more obvious way than his very first. As he helped to stage the house for viewings, pillows would rise from the couch, throwing themselves at his back. Books would fly off the shelves, pages fluttering about as they slammed into the floor. During showings, he would find himself closing cabinet doors with a heel as they flew open while he would show bright eyed couples the brand new gas stove. The newly installed programmable thermostat would crank itself down to 40 degrees and lock itself there. It was what it was, so Shiro would throw on his nicest pea coat and scarf combo and direct curious couples’ attention to the brand new quartz tile in the bathrooms.

Each time something new would happen in front of a potential buyer, Shiro would find himself sighing deeply, a strangled, “It’s also haunted,” escaping his lips.

His ultimate reprieve and blessing in disguise came in the form of one Krolia Kogane. She viewed the house for roughly ten minutes, until every painting hung carefully on the walls tore itself from its mount and crashed to the floor. Her eyes widened upon the scene, and when Shiro opened his mouth to ready himself for the usual rejection, she simply smiled and said, “It’s perfect.”

The sale went through, and that was the end of that.

Or so he thought.

By his third place, word had started to get around that he was pushing haunted houses. Fellow realtors would send him emails or call his home office to try and unload listings of their own that they found suspicious. The house he was working on was a perfectly fine, new build on a freshly established street, but the damage was already done. Rumor had gone around enough that he had to actively inform people that this one was, in fact, not haunted.

As a joke, the other agents in his office went in on a five pack of _NOT HAUNTED!_ sign additions for him to use on his active listings.

The sad thing was, he found himself using them.

Turned out, putting a sign that says _NOT HAUNTED!_ in front of a house doesn’t do much to ease anyone’s mind. The house did sell, but only after having several priests, demonologists, and psychics walk through to assure the buyer that the place was clear. Shiro still has a few crystals from that experience. Just as a reminder.

Shiro’s fourth house was super haunted. Haunted enough to force him to throw up his hands and dissolve his contract with the owner. He still doesn’t like to think back on the events he experienced there, and he avoids the topic if he can. A week after pulling out of the deal, a new realtor had the house listed with a big, bright _NOT HAUNTED!!!_ banner slapped over the yard sign, complete with extra exclamation marks.

That house is still up for sale.

His fifth house, though. That was the house where everything changed. On his fifth house, Shiro met Keith. Keith was Krolia’s son, and it turned out they were a family of flippers who specialized in houses with... _character._ Character here meaning ghosts. By the time the two met, Shiro had resigned himself to his fate. He even started to loosen up a bit about the existence of the supernatural altogether. Ghosts, he found, could mostly be treated like puppies who act up. He would chat with the spirits that bumped the coffee table around, scold the spooks who flooded the kitchen with water, threaten to beat a poltergeist with a newspaper if they didn’t knock off their bad behavior.

That was how Keith had discovered Shiro. He’d run late to their appointment to view the place, which was just as well, since Shiro found himself performing last minute repairs on freshly clawed up wallpaper.

As he applied glue and cursed out the ghosts, a soft snort sounded out from behind him.

“If I had known it would be like this, I would have seen the place sooner.”

Everything after that is a little fuzzy for Shiro. Not for any bad reason. Just because it’s hard to remember what, exactly, he’d though when he turned around and saw the most beautiful man on the planet. How do you remember the moment you meet your soulmate? How do you keep your mind from polishing a memory to gold, even if that memory is of your future husband telling you that ghosts provide extra charm?

That was three years ago. Now, they live together in that very flip, although Shiro had insisted it be blessed. He can handle a great many things, but working among _and_ living with ghosts is not one of those things.

The front door creaks open in the foyer, shaking Shiro out of his brief reverie.

“I was hoping you’d be here.”

Shiro sits up on his haunches, dropping the scrub brush into the bucket of water beside him. He looks over his shoulder, holding a hand out to Keith as he approaches.

“Yeah, well, I figured it’d be smart to check everything out before the open house.”

Keith quirks an eyebrow at the blood on the floor. “And here you are.”

“And here I am,” Shiro confirms, waving his hands over the bloodstain in his best imitation of a showcase presenter. “Living my best life.”

Keith snorts and drops to the floor beside him, bending over to run a hand through the wet mess. He rubs his fingers together, considering. “Mom wanted me to take a look and see if she might be into this one.”

“Oh?” Shiro asks, smacking Keith’s hand away and grabbing up the brush again. “And what’s your verdict?”

“Well, I—”

Shiro almost doesn’t even notice Keith going silent. The blood is almost gone, and he’s pretty sure if he just adds a little more ammonia, he can get it out completely. He only needs a little more elbow grease, maybe, and—

Keith elbows him in the side and stands up abruptly. Shiro sets down his brush and watches as Keith scrambles to his feet and deliberately stalks through the room toward the hallway.

“Babe,” he calls over his shoulder, “you should come see this.”

Shiro sighs to himself. He knows whatever it is won’t be good. It never is when Keith gets excited like this. Well, whenever he gets excited like this in a listing, anyway. Still, he’s resigned himself to deal with his husband’s antics until he dies, so it’s better to just check it out and get it over with.

Keith turns the corner out of the parlor and Shiro briefly loses sight of him. He’s learned long before now not to worry when it happens. Instead, he knows it’s _actually_ worrisome when Keith starts talking to—

“Well, aren’t you just up to no good, hmm?” Keith baby talks from the hallway. _Fuck._ “Now, why on Earth are you pulling a trick like this? Huh? Are you looking for some attention, buddy?”

Shiro steps through the threshold and catches sight of Keith wandering slowly down the hallway, trailing after a perfect replica of an Edo period vase, floating nonchalantly through the air. Shiro wants to punch himself in the face. There’s something to be said about a man who looks like he could murder you having a soft spot for ghosts. Something like a goth boyfriend cliche.

Keith crouches down as the vase comes to a stop, hovering a few feet from the ground.

“Now, don’t you wanna let me have that back? I really think it’d be the smartest thing to do, don’t you? Yes, it would.” Keith’s voice lilts up at the end, full of fondness and encouragement. Shiro wants to punch himself in the face and then cry. “Hey babe?”

“Yeah, Keith.”

“Can you grab my phone for me?” He shakes his hip in emphasis, drawing Shiro’s attention down to where it’s tucked in his back pocket. “I wanna facetime mom.”

Shiro isn’t one to turn down an opportunity to feel up his husband, no matter the situation. Even if he’s embarrassed at himself for even thinking about that when a literal haunting is happening mere feet away from him. He truly is becoming numb to it all. Maybe he’ll book a vacation after this. Somewhere without any ghosts to speak of. Mars, maybe.

“Yeah,” he sighs, stepping forward to slip the phone out of Keith’s jeans. He gives him an extra squeeze just because, and it’s a testament to how focused Keith is that he doesn’t even react. Instead, he takes the phone with a muttered _thanks_ and speed dials his mom.

Shiro sees himself pinching the bridge of his nose in the background of the picture as Krolia answers with a raised eyebrow.

“Keith. This must be important.”

It’s not a question. It’s barely a statement. Even after years of knowing her, it’s difficult for Shiro not to hear every word out of her mouth as a threat.

“It is, mom. Look.” Keith fumbles with the phone for a second, tapping the button to change the camera lens to back facing. It’s a miracle the vase hasn’t shattered on the floor by this point, Shiro thinks. This ghost must really like Keith.

The camera angle changes, and Shiro watches on silently as Krolia takes in the activity displayed to her. Quiet seconds slip by as she observes the vase set itself gently on the floor, and Shiro can’t help but to let his mind wander over everything he’s going to need to do to get this place ready for the open house that is now — he checks his watch — forty-five minutes away.

“Let me see the rest of it,” Krolia’s voice sounds, tinny through the speakers.

“Sure thing,” Keith answers. He drops a kiss to Shiro’s cheek and wanders off, plunging through the rest of the house and describing the other activity Shiro’s seen inside. Shiro listens intently as Keith’s voice gets further away, his steps creaking throughout the house.

Maybe he won’t do anything to get it ready.

Maybe he’ll just show the house as it is and switch sales tactics. _If you can get the blood out, it’s yours._ He glances out the window at the happy _NOT HAUNTED!_ sign posted in the yard. _Are you into floating decor and oozing corners? Then_ boy, _do I have the house for you! Come on down to Shiro’s worst nightmare!_

Keith traipses back into the room, laughing at something his mom said. “Sure thing, mom. We’ll see you later.”

“Bye, kiddo. Love you.”

“We love you, too.” Keith hangs up with a smile and tucks his phone away. He looks up to Shiro, still smiling as he steps through the room to press their bodies together, chest to chest. “Well, I have good news,” he says, smoothing his hands down over Shiro’s biceps.

“You’re pregnant,” Shiro deadpans.

Keith snorts, loud and ugly. “God, could you imagine? Mom would lose her shit. No, I’m afraid it’s much more boring.”

Shiro wraps his arms around Keith’s waist, settling his chin down on top of his head. “Hmm, let’s see. Oh, is it Allura? Is she pregnant again?”

“Fuck off, you asshole,” Keith laughs, smacking Shiro on the back. “Nah, mom loves it. She’ll send you a contract soon.”

He does a very good job of not showing it, but Shiro rejoices beneath his skin. Any time Krolia buys a house from him, it’s a guarantee that he will never hear of the place again. She has a special touch. She and Keith both. Whatever it is they do to the houses they buy is like magic. Moreso, it’s just that they know the right people to really chill a place out, but still. There’s something about the Kogane family.

“And there’s one more thing,” Keith murmurs, face tucked between Shiro’s pecs.

“One more?” Shiro asks, shuffling back a bit so he can see Keith’s face. “What is it?

“So, mom already knew she was going to buy the place once she saw the vase.”

“Well, then why did you take her on a tour?”

“We needed to talk about something, and I knew you wouldn’t listen if we were talking business.”

“Which you weren’t.”

“Nope,” he answers, popping the p.

“What is it, then?”

“We want you in.”

Shiro pauses.

“What does that mean?”

“Look, we’ve been kicking the idea around for a while, and it only makes sense. We pretty much buy all our houses from you, anyway. You kinda have a reputation at this point.”

“A reputation.”

“Don’t act like you don’t know. Anyway, we wanted to ask you to join the business.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah. Mom’s willing to buy out your contract with your broker and bring you on. We want you to be our exclusive buying and listing agent.”

“Really?”

Working with Keith and his mom would actually be a dream come true. He would get to see his husband way more than he currently does, since he stays so busy with his clients. He enjoys spending time with Krolia, too. They get along well, and they both have the same type of head for business.

“Yep. With you, I think we could really grow the business into something great, you know? You’re really talented, and you kind of have a knack for this.”

“I love you so much,” Shiro answers, gathering Keith back up into his arms and squeezing tight.

“So is that a yes?”

“Keith, I would love that.”

“Good,” he answers with a hint of relief in his voice.

If you had asked Shiro years ago, back when he lost an arm and fell into a seemingly unending abyss, where he thought he would end up, he would never have told you it would be selling haunted houses with the love of his life. Even now, standing here with his husband in his arms, sharing body heat next to a vase left forgotten on the floor, he can hardly believe it. It’s all too good to be true. Shiro can barely handle it some days.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” Keith says, craning his head back. Shiro runs a thumb over his lower lip, gliding it along the soft and pillowy skin.

“Me too,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss him.

Their lips connect softly, a gesture they’ve perfected over the years. It’s comforting and familiar, and yet, something Shiro thinks he’ll never get used it. He threads his fingers through Keith’s hair, tilting his head back to a better angle. Keith moans softly in the back of his throat, and suddenly—

_BOOM!_

The house plunges into darkness as every single light bulb bursts in its socket.

“I think it’s jealous,” Keith murmurs against Shiro’s mouth.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to visit me over on [tumblr](http://tootsonnewts.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/_tootsonnewts)!
> 
> have a nice day!


End file.
